Umbilical sundered,
Harper discharges the attendant comet
- there.
What have you done?
The Arachnic moans.
I have let the balloon go,
Harper replies.
A blithe smile curling decoratively filigree
into one cheek.
a wry
why not? question mark
punctuating a shyly emerging
but eminently charming
dimple.
You have let the balloon go!!!
The web-walker fairly shrieks,
You have let go of your senses,
You foolish, arrogant experimenter,
wanton and childish and... and...
The Arachnid blusters to a stop,
for is not
Harper pointing starwards
and giggling? (innanely, the Arachnid thinks).
Far from whizzing away, exploding
into cataclysmic sparks
or behaving in any way wildly, self-destructive
or gloomy Dooms Dayish,
the comet is burning
yet more intensely
and fluctuating in colour both rapidly
and quite, quite
paradoxically.
One might even say,
excitedly were one inclined to superlatives.
Oh my,
the Arachnid observes inconsequentially.
Oh my, yes,
Harper gloats, naturally,
oh, my
brilliantly childish
and wantonly sensational experiment!
As both she and spider gaze, fascinated
up,
the comet,
if comet it be, draws in tail
as one might spring-wind a dog leash.
It then begins to descend
having apparently established
a rosy-red glow best suits
its new personality.
As it draws near
the assemblage, momentarily forgotten
begin to nervously croon, purr, hum, drone, mutter
in apprehension and outright
fear.
But not Harper.
She proffers wrist
intuiting justly that the rubicund traveller
might appreciate a perch
for as it approaches
she empirically notes
the comet is rather more phoenix-like
than previously distinguished.
The Arachnid meanwhile, shrinks, moribund
and would no doubt slink, incy-wincy
spider-like away
did not Harper insist:
No.
Don't go.
I think you should stay.
Truly.
